


the kids are all fucked up

by clumsygyrl (thegirlthatisclumsy)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-04
Updated: 2007-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlthatisclumsy/pseuds/clumsygyrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was this kid. Bob had no idea what to make of him. He wasn’t the usual scene kid (no eyeliner or skull in sight). Bob tried not to pay too much attention to him. He had a job to do and frankly he couldn’t be distracted by some scrawny kid with too high socks and too long shorts.</p><p>There was this kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the kids are all fucked up

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [](http://lovelypoet.livejournal.com/profile)[**lovelypoet**](http://lovelypoet.livejournal.com/) for the read through and the encouragement. thanks to [](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/profile)[**schuyler**](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/), [](http://shellies.livejournal.com/profile)[**shellies**](http://shellies.livejournal.com/) & [](http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/profile)[**iphignia939**](http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/) for the cheerleading. it wasn't the original story i wanted to write, but it's a story that i'm glad i did. for [](http://gigantic.livejournal.com/profile)[**gigantic**](http://gigantic.livejournal.com/), an awesome human being and amazing writer, for the DYW: Live Free or Die Fic Exchange. i just hope you like it. she requested "any combination of Frank/Patrick/Bob Bryar" & "Sex in semi-public places, dirty talk, rimming, fingering is always nice, and _riding_! There is never enough riding! \o\ /o/ \o/" so. i tried to do it all. heh. p.s. thanks gabe saporta for the title. edited to add: [](http://shellies.livejournal.com/profile)[**shellies**](http://shellies.livejournal.com/) wrote the remix for this fic because i ~~made sad faces at her for it~~ asked nicely. you MUST read it after this. [I See You Shiver With Antici…pation](http://aphoristick.livejournal.com/2959.html). rowr.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** all true. yup. all of it. except where it’s not. being everything with vowels and consonants.  
> 

There was this kid. Bob had no idea what to make of him. He wasn’t the usual scene kid (no eyeliner or skull in sight). Bob tried not to pay too much attention to him. He had a job to do and frankly he couldn’t be distracted by some scrawny kid with too high socks and too long shorts.

There was this kid.

+

The Chicago scene was small enough that Bob knew he’d see the kid again, but he wasn’t expecting to run into him making out against a dirty club bathroom wall with a kid that looked no older than him. He didn’t know if it were better or worse, but both kids looked up when he walked in, the door opening to the blast of sound and then shutting and muffling the bass. The Kid’s mouth was red and swollen and he was still wearing those damn socks.

The other kid smirked at him and made a show of sliding his hand down into Kid’s pants, doing something that made Other Kid smirk and Original Kid moan.

Bob didn’t know if was the beer or the scene in front of him, but he was dizzy. He pushed out of the bathroom, back into the heavy bass and press of people.

Now there were these kids.

+

It wasn’t as if Bob was hard up for work. There were plenty of shows, plenty of tours, plenty of plenty. But no matter where he was or what he was doing in town, he made a point to go back to That Club. He hadn’t seen them in a few months. He’d spent months on the road spinning out stories in his head about who they were, what they were like. His favorite little fantasy was that The Kid (the one with the mouth and the socks) was a high school senior and it was his first night out, searching for Mr. Right Now. The Other Kid (with the tattoos) had taken to The Kid at first sight, plied him with some illicit beer and a few well placed gropes. They’d stumbled into the bathroom and The Kid had started his first foray into gay sex by sucking The Other Kid’s cock.

Bob didn’t feel right about giving them names. It didn’t, however, stop him from jerking off to the memory and story every other night.

+

It’s not that he hated what he did, but there was a difference between fiddling with knobs and beating out something against his drums. A something, not just some random rhythm, but something. Something real.

But food on the table and a place to sleep sometimes overruled art.

Doing sound for corporate sponsors and at a fucking Hard Rock Café and he knew that his cred was dwindling by the moment. But rent was due and he had had enough of his landlord giving him the fish eye every time he stumbled home after a gig.

“So, this is what you do?”

Bob shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. A little. “Are you stalking me?”

The Kid grinned and Bob should not think that it was cute. The smile should also not be that dirty. Not when you were wearing a shirt that had someone’s little league team on it. Possibly The Kid’s. “Something like that. I liked it. What you’re doing.”

Bob had not heard that before. He stepped back let The Kid step up next to the board. “I’m real good at flipping dials.”

The Kid gave him a look that Bob figured that it meant The Kid knew that it was a little more than just flipping dials. He looked down at the set up. Bob took his time, used The Kid’s inattention (or the attention that he wasn’t paying to Bob), to look him up and down. The past few months had changed him. He was still soft around the edges, not unlike Bob, but there was a difference in the way that he held himself. More confidence maybe.

Bob couldn’t be sure.

Then again it wasn’t as if Bob really knew him. “So, you’re into this?” He asked gesturing out to the pseudo-boyband on stage.

The Kid laughed. “Not so much no. My boyfriend’s working barback tonight. Thought I’d wander and see who was making this shit somewhat manageable.”

“Your boyfriend…”

“Yeah, the one you saw me with.”

Bob nodded. He wasn’t sure how to take the fact that The Kid just brushed off Bob walking in on what looked to be a really dirty handjob. “Cool.” He fiddled with the main and half expected him to be gone.

He wasn’t. “I’m Patrick. His name’s Frank. You should come after and let us buy you a drink.”

Bob wanted to laugh and say that he didn’t look old enough to buy him a root beer or couldn’t afford Bob’s time, but that would be rude. And The Kid Patrick was cute. “Cool.”

+

Bob finished off his third (or was it seventh?) beer and he watched them. It was…interesting. Patrick was the same kid he had seen months ago, but different. Something more. He was more with Frank.

Frank. Bob tipped the bottle back, just for the motion, not because there was anything left. It let him watch Frank with Patrick. There was the easy touching and the laughing at inside jokes that couples had when they had been together for a while or were into each other. Really into each other. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t need sound or words to understand.

Frank was a little bit of a surprise to Bob. He was just as short as Patrick, more compactly muscled with this energy that set Bob’s teeth on edge, but not in a bad way. It made Bob want things he probably shouldn’t. Especially not within the first five minutes of meeting the guy. Frank had looked Bob up and down, smirking and bending down to pick up a tray of empties. Bob had no idea if it was on purpose, but Bob got an eyeful of pert ass and sweaty lower back, inkwork and colors swirling in the small slash of skin between jeans and thin cotton shirt.

Bob needed another beer and to get home and beat off. Hopefully in that order.

“Where’re you going?”

Bob looked up blinking long and slow at Patrick. “Home. The place I can go to sleep off this cheap shit your boyfriend was pushing at me all night.” He grabbed the back of his chair, hauling himself up and out. Upright was surprisingly hard. He shook his head at himself and grunted. “Pretzels are not a substitute for a meal. You remember that Kid Patrick.” Bob muttered.

He added taking a piss to his laundry list of things to do.

“Someone’s had a little too much to drink.” Patrick said moving behind Bob and walking him toward the bathroom. Bob shook his head and wanted to tell Patrick that he was well enough equipped to piss by himself, a skill he’d mastered in the past twenty or so years.

“Going to hold my dick?” Bob joked as Patrick got him into a stall. It was supposed to be a joke, but Patrick crowded in behind him. He knew this was wrong. Patrick pressed up against him in a too small bathroom stall was wrong, a very bad idea.

Bob realized he was wrong if he thought that Patrick was soft and young. Maybe Patrick was those few months ago, but now he wasn’t. Maybe Bob hadn’t really known Patrick. Patrick’s breath was warm and sweet against his neck and Bob couldn’t help but lean back. He thought he felt Patrick laugh. He knew he didn’t hear it. But possibly his disconnect carried on further than just missing this Patrick. This Patrick wasn’t The Kid. At least not the one that Bob thought he knew.

“We watched you.” Bob heard the words but he didn’t process. Couldn’t. His brain was too foggy from beer and the hard press of a warm body against his. “I watched you.”

Bob licked his lips. He knew this was important, more important than the rub of fingers against a zipper. Unfortunately, importance and the levels thereof were quickly and readily leaving his mental capacities. “What, what are you talking about?”

Patrick couldn’t have been watching Bob. Because Bob had been watching Patrick. If it were true, then Patrick and Bob had been watching each other.

“Frank talks about what your dick looks like, what’d it feel like, taste like,” Patrick whispered and Bob ground his back teeth together. This shit did not happen to him. He was not one that lived out some off kilter Penthouse letter. That wasn’t him. Despite all wet dreams to the contrary, Bob wasn’t that guy.

At least he thought not, but here he was. “Fuck,” he groaned. His pants were open and Patrick was drawing his cock out of his shorts.

Patrick’s hands were warm, a little damp but calloused. “I was right. Thicker than he thought, but just as long.” He said, fingers sliding up to the tip agonizingly slow. “I want to drop down and suck you off right here. I bet you’d let me.” Patrick’s hands felt like his own, different grip and size, but with the same type of uneven surfaces. The thought that Patrick just might be a musician added another layer and made Bob forget that he wasn’t supposed to like this, that he wasn’t supposed to be letting another guy’s boyfriend jerk him off.

“Answer me,” Patrick growled. Bob shuddered and pushed into the tight circle of Patrick’s fingers. “Okay,” he said against Bob’s neck. “Okay.”

Bob grabbed the side of the stall, the tile swimming as he rocked his head back against Patrick’s shoulders. “Patrick, _Jesus_ fuck.” He couldn’t. He was going to. Can’t.

Patrick bit his neck, teeth grazing the thin skin behind his ear, tongue skating over the pulse. “Want you to fuck me.”

White noise rushed, swirled and settled in his head. His body convulsed, jerking against the rough slide of Patrick’s palm against his cock. Bob watched in almost detached pleasure as his come streaked the toilet seat, rippling the water in quicksharp points.

Bob thought he heard Patrick laugh. He knew he felt it.

+

Patrick finally let him piss, alone. When he stumbled back out, Patrick promptly snatched his keys and told him that he’d drive him home.

Bob couldn’t look at Frank. Somehow he knew that Frank could or would know.

Frank made sure to stick close to him on the two minute walk from bar to car. “You better fuck him good.” Bob looked up getting a face full of smoke and a flash of teeth. Frank’s face was half shadowed and Bob would have thought he looked sinister, but Frank’s voice was pitched low, soft and just as smoky as the plume seeping from the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“Patrick,” Frank leaned in, breath warm against his ear and smoke even hotter as Frank exhaled against his neck. “He let me taste you.”

Bob was not ready for this shit.

When he looked up again, Frank was kissing Patrick hard and swaggering over to his car. Patrick poured Bob into his own car. There were protests, but Bob wasn't sure if he voiced them or not. “We’ve been waiting for this.”

Bob had no idea if Patrick meant Frank and him or if he was talking about Bob at all.

Bob didn't remember the trip home. He doesn't suppose it mattered much. He does remember the feel and press of Patrick’s mouth against his and the way his fingers slid along his neck.

+

“Nice place,” Patrick said walking in and tossing Bob’s keys down.

Bob was a little weirded out that Patrick knew where to put his keys. His head was clearer and he could talk. Probably. If Patrick didn’t touch him.

“I like it,” Patrick said, smile curving the up at the corner.

Or if he didn’t talk.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck is happening. Or whatever you and Frank are playing at but. I. I don’t. This is.” Bob said glaring at Patrick. His body was still buzzing from the beer and the orgasm, but he wasn’t going to let that make him forget the words this time.

“I want you.” Patrick enunciated carefully.

“You don’t fucking _know_ me,” Bob tried to make it clear. He didn’t know them and they didn’t know him.

Patrick stepped closer and smiled.

Bob damned himself for liking it. It was more like the smile that he thought The Kid would have, would make. “Stop. Just. Thanks for. You know. But… I’m. Not the guy.” He paused. “Are you old enough to. You know what. Nevermind. Just…”

Patrick reached out.

Bob would have probably stepped back, but all Patrick touched was his shirt. Rubbing the hem of it between his thumb and forefinger, he didn’t speak for a long while. “We want to get to know you. We watched you. I like what I’ve seen so far. And you’re damn hot. I liked your tour stories and you didn’t laugh in my face when I told you about my middle school obsession with Abba.”

Bob swallowed hard and this time he did step back.

Patrick didn’t let go. “Frank--.”

Yes, Frank. “Yeah.”

“He wants you. He’s been to almost every hometown show you’ve teched for. He’s seen you play in shitty bands too.” Patrick said biting his lip as if he were revealing a secret he shouldn’t.

Bob laughed and he shook his head. “So, what? You’re both stalking me?”

Patrick tilted his head. “Yeah, actually. Something wrong with that?”

Bob wanted to laugh at him, send him off with a push against his luscious little ass out his door. But when he looked up and Patrick just stood there, the hem of Bob's shirt between his fingers and his lower lip caught between his teeth, Bob didn’t laugh.

“I’m so fucked,” Bob muttered and closed the distance between them.

Bob couldn’t be sure but he thought that Patrick’s laugh tasted a little bit like smoke and beer.

+

Patrick moved faster than he looked, better naked, but not fast enough for Bob. They stripped each other quickly, just pausing to kiss and grind. Patrick pushed Bob back against his couch, the one with the cigarette burns and the springs that were designed, Bob was pretty sure, to lodge themselves into the backs of thighs and backs. There was the little fumble for condom and lube and then, then Bob’s fingers were there.

Patrick looked as good as he sounded and sounded as good as he looked. Bob sat back against the couch, fingers pushing in and out of Patrick, feeling the hot slick tightness of him as Patrick worked himself open slowly. This should have been it, put the questions to rest, but Bob couldn’t stop them.

“What about Frank?”

Patrick didn’t pause, couldn’t stop moving and letting Bob press his fingers in deeper. “Waiting outside for me. Followed us.” He shuddered, almost ready to come apart just from this. “God, Bob, please.”

Bob held Patrick’s hips down, almost pulling his fingers out. He ignored Patrick’s whine and the needy little roll for more. “Call him. He… he should be here.” Whatever protest Patrick had planned, died when Bob looked at him, unsure and waiting.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah. Yes.” Patrick reached for his pants and pulled out his phone. Bob had a hard time just watching his body twist and move. He barely heard the hurried conversation before Patrick was back, mouth warm and eager against his. “He’s coming up.”

Bob bit Patrick’s lower lip, fingers pushing in hard again, making Patrick’s head reel back on a groan. “Good.”

+

Patrick was sweating, face against Bob’s neck as Bob moved under him, cock pushing up into the heat and clench of Patrick’s body. “Fucking tight.” He slowed slightly when the door opened then shut with a click.

Bob barely paused to acknowledge the quiet, “Oh fuck.”, before grabbing Patrick’s ass, spreading him and pushing up so Frank could watch. He heard clothes hitting the floor and the smart little snick of the lock sliding into place. Patrick’s body was yielding and responsive, mouth opening with each new sound. “He’s fucking tight.”

Frank dropped to his knees, cock in hand and tongue skimming over his lower lip. “I know.”

Bob wanted to laugh, but the sound came out darker and deeper. “God, Frankie. How the fuck do you stand it? Shit,” he groaned as Patrick slid up and then back down and then up again, squeezing as his body rose.

“Don’t know.” Frank said grinning and leaning in.

This time there wasn’t laughter, but a distinct body shaking shudder as he felt the rough wet pass of Frank’s tongue against his cock. Bob felt Patrick’s body clench and spasm around him. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” Patrick whispered and Bob knew that Frank’s tongue wasn’t just playing against his cock. “Yeah, lick him too, Frankie.” Bob was fucking close.

Patrick didn’t give a warning and just grabbed at Bob’s shoulders and his body bucked up hard. Bob felt the jerk of Patrick’s cock against his stomach, streaking his chest and the grip of Patrick’s body around his cock.

Bob would like to think that he could have held on for longer, but Patrick’s body unbelievably tight around him and Frank’s tongue sliding along the base made that impossible. He bit at the softness of Patrick’s shoulder and pushed up hard again, body bucking up with each shudder as he came.

Bob felt Patrick shift against him, body pressing against his chest. His eyes half lidded he watched as Frank stroke himself, body arching up, bowing up taut as he came, his cries layering with Bob’s breathing and Patrick soft sigh.

+

Bob shifted, mattress cold against his stomach and outstretched arm. The morning pressed in against him and he wondered if it was worth opening his eyes for. He rolled onto his back, eyes still closed.

The cars outside and kids’ voices were muted, buffered between plaster and glass and distance.

He smiled and opened his eyes, remembering the soft press of words against his neck and that there was a note stuck on his fridge with two sets of phone numbers on it.

 

 

 

 

fin.


End file.
